


ASSFLASH, NEWSHOLE ! MUMBO KNEW THE ENTIRE GOT DANG TIME !

by mafia_V



Category: Hermitcraft, The Weight Of Lies (Hermitcraft)
Genre: BastardBin, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, The Weight Of Lies, it's not the focus though not really, mention of pain and injury, twol Grian is an anxious bastard and I hope that came across well, twol au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mafia_V/pseuds/mafia_V
Summary: twol au where Mumbo knew that a. Grian is a demon and b. Grian was the one who stole his wings from the beginningI may or may not give this a more serious title later.
Relationships: Mumbo/Grian
Comments: 20
Kudos: 302





	ASSFLASH, NEWSHOLE ! MUMBO KNEW THE ENTIRE GOT DANG TIME !

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Lies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027974) by [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin). 



> so I was rereading twol and very early on Grian is wondering if Mumbo is testing him, if he actually knows, and writer brain went *but what if tho*
> 
> I don't know when this would be set, timeline wise.
> 
> BB, I hope you enjoy.

His first waking is brief.

Gentle hands comb through his hair and it’s almost a soft enough touch to distract from the fire blazing through him. He lets out a pained whimper, unable even to open his eyes. The hands stop, sliding down to cup his face. He thinks he hears a voice.. ? But he can’t understand what they’re saying. He tries to focus on something else. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. But those hands are cool, offering relief from the hot pain where they still touch his face. The careful touch and the low, soothing tones of the voice above him are just enough to lull him back to sleep.

  
  


The next time Grian blinks awake, he’s alone. He feels sticky and wrung out and gross. His hair is matted to his forehead with dried sweat and the blankets feel stifling. He kicks them down only to shudder harshly, sweat cooling rapidly in the chill-feeling air. The room is plain except for the large rugs and tapestries on the floors and walls, meant to insulate as well as decorate. He’s.... in False’s base, he thinks. The banners on the walls look like hers, even with his swimming vision.

Grian slowly sits up in bed, reaching for the blankets even as he brings his wings up to wrap around himself. He’d rather be too warm than this cold, he thinks.

He freezes when black feathers catch the light streaming through the window.

He doesn’t have a glamor on. When he reaches for it, there’s a gaping void where the magic should be, a gnawing emptiness that makes him feel almost nauseated. Or maybe that’s the terror settling into his already foggy mind. How long has he been unconscious ? Who has seen him like this ? How many people know ?

And have they connected the dots between their wingless angel and suddenly winged demon ?

Grian squeezes his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness, clutching the blankets and hunching over. His abdomen hurts. He squints down at himself, pulling weakly at the plain shirt he doesn’t remember putting on, and finds bandages underneath. They’re soaked in a potion, regeneration if he’s smelling it right. What happened.. ?

Fatigue rolls over him, and Grian slowly lowers himself back down, grimacing against the pain of whatever wound and the fear of discovery. His eyelids are heavy. He doesn’t want to sleep, wants to try and call his glamor back, but he can already feel himself starting to drift off again. He’s.. so tired......

––––––

“It looks a lot better. He should be waking up properly, sometime soon.”

“Thank you. I– thank you.”

“It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”

Someone takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Footsteps fade, and a door clicks shut. A heavy sigh is released somewhere next to him. The rustling of fabric. Something brushes against his cheek. And then hands are in his hair, combing through it and scratching lightly over his head, and around the bases of his horns.

Wait.

Grian’s eyes snap open and before he really realizes what he’s doing he’s already halfway to sitting up. The hands leave his hair in favor of pushing at his shoulders. Grian struggles against them, but he’s still weakened, and they push him onto his back all too easily. Grian catches sight of black feathers in his peripheral vision and his panic redoubles. He struggles harder, wincing and baring his teeth when his side twinges painfully. He pants with exertion. The hands are exchanged with elbows, someone is leaning over him and holding him down with their arms while they reach for his face. Grian cries out fearfully, kicking weakly at his attacker and pawing uselessly at their waist.

“–an. Grian ! Grian, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. Grian, shh, dove, it’s okay....”

Grian knows that voice.

“Shh. It’s okay. Breathe for me, dove. Just like that, yes, you’re doing fantastic. Just keep breathing. My pretty dove. You’re doing so well. Shh.”

Grian lets Mumbo’s dulcet voice wash over him and does his best to take a longer breath. Mumbo keeps encouraging him, whispering little praises and reassurances to him, once more playing with his hair. Grian breathes, trying to match Mumbo’s own inhales and exhales. He feels a tear roll down the side of his face.

“Oh, dove,” Mumbo says softly. He brushes it away with his thumb and presses a short kiss to the spot instead. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Grian takes another few breaths before he finally opens his eyes. Mumbo’s worried expression morphs into a relieved, happy smile, his moustache almost seeming to curl at the edges. He gently strokes his thumbs underneath Grian’s eyes, over his cheeks and brushing at the few tears still gathered at the corners of his eyes. Grian is so mesmerized he’s almost totally forgotten why he was so afraid. Mumbo is beautiful, he thinks. His immaculate dark hair catching the dim light in just the right way, his lilac eyes sparkling with affection, the way his smile pulls slightly more toward one side of his face than the other.

Mumbo’s cheeks turn rosy, and he laughs softly. “Why, thank you,” he murmurs, his gaze so soft. Grian frowns. Mumbo shakes his head in amusement. “You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you ?”

Grian bites his lip and shakes his head, then immediately regrets his decision. He flinches at the dull throbbing in his head, reaching up to grasp at his face. His fingertips brush against ridged keratin and he tenses up.

No. No no no no no no no.

Grian feels the burn of fresh tears welling up, and can’t do anything except let them come. He reaches for his glamor, but there’s still only a pit where there should be power. There’s nothing left for him to cling to. There’s nothing left for him to hide behind. There’s nothing more he can do. His secret is finally revealed. His sins are finally exposed.

Mumbo knows.

“Wh– oh no, what’s wrong ?” Mumbo touches the back of his hand, but Grian shrinks away, still hiding his face in his hands. Maybe if he doesn’t have to look Mumbo in the eyes this will hurt less. “Grian, Grian what’s happened ? What’s wrong ?” Mumbo scoops Grian up into an embrace, and he stiffens, confusion and horror warring with his desire to give into the gentle touch. How is he not reacting to this ? Why is he not reacting to this ? Even just knowing that he’s a demon with wings, Mumbo should be able to connect the dots.

Grian stifles a sob, and Mumbo squeezes him close against his chest. “Shh, dove. Tell me what’s wrong. Does something hurt ? Tell me, dove. Please tell me.”

“How can you keep calling me that ?” he croaks, his voice thick with tears. Mumbo loosens his hold enough to look down at Grian. Grian still avoids his gaze.

“What do you mean ?”

“How can you stand to– to hold me, and hug me, and call me sweet things when– when you _know_. You know, you know, there’s no way you don’t know.”

Mumbo tilts his head in confusion. “Know what ? What do I know ?”

Grian sniffles and grips his hair frustratedly. “You may be a spoon, Mumbo Jumbo, but you’re not this much of an idiot. You know that I’m– you know what I _am_. It’s obvious. With the– my– the glamor not working,” Grian’s voice wavers at the last. He hunches in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head in a vain attempt to shield himself from Mumbo’s sight, to hide his horns and his tears and the developing headache just making all of this worse than it already is.

“Wh– Well, what, that you’re a demon ?”

Grian’s stomach drops somewhere around his feet, and he tries not to let even more tears run down his face. He gives a tight little nod, still not looking back at Mumbo. “And from there.... I’m a demon with _wings_ ,” he says weakly. “You have to know what that means. You can’t not know what that means.”

Mumbo is silent for a long moment, and Grian curls into himself even tighter, ignoring the growing pain in his side in favor of making himself as small as possible. Relfexively he brings his wings in as tight as he can against his back. He realizes distantly that he’s quaking.

“....Well, yeah,” Mumbo says slowly. “I do know what that means. I mean,” he scoffs, a farce of a laugh, “I thought it was a myth until it happened to me. A legend, a fairytale. Something mothers told their children to prevent them misbehaving.” He sighs. “But, it isn’t. Found that one out the hard way,” he says, the joke falling flat. Grian flinches at his tone.

Mumbo sighs again. Grian isn’t expecting it when a hand settles softly between his wing shoulders. Mumbo rubs soothing little circles into Grian’s back with his thumb, and against his will Grian finds himself relaxing, just slightly, into the touch.

“But then I met you.” Mumbo’s voice is quiet, contemplative. “You were so afraid. You’re _still_ so afraid. I could see through the glamor pretty much right away. I saw you at spawn, and something seemed off, and when I squinted the right way it was like having double vision. I stopped really trying to see through it, it gave me a headache.”

Grian feels nauseous. He feels the tears crest and overflow, dripping down his face. “You..”

“I knew the whole time,” Mumbo confirms quietly. “I hated you a little, at first. Before I knew who it was, before you came to Hermitcraft. I was really upset. It was really difficult at first. But I got used to it. And then you arrived, and I knew.” Mumbo huffs a breath. “But you didn’t have any malice about you. I could see the contrition on your face as soon as you turned around and realized exactly who I was.”

Mumbo reaches around to cup his jaw, gently guiding him into looking up. Grian’s eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at the angel before him. Mumbo strokes his thumb over Grian’s cheek, catching a tear as it falls.

“Look at me, dove ?”

That nickname again. Grian squeezes his eyes shut, more tears tracking silently down his face and slipping uncomfortably down to the underside of his chin. With a heavy sigh, he opens his eyes. He stares at Mumbo’s loose tie, for a moment. He’s not wearing his suit jacket, and his shirt collar is open by a couple buttons. Normally the sight would fluster him.

He trails his eyes up to Mumbo’s Adam’s apple, then up along his jaw to his ear, and then finally across to his eyes.

Mumbo looks tired, but he smiles slightly when Grian meets his gaze at last. “There you are,” he murmurs, swiping away yet another tear with his thumb.

Grian blinks slowly, the desire to lean into Mumbo’s hand at odds with his instinct to get the hell out of dodge. Mumbo leans in and kisses his forehead, and the tender action has him crying again.

“I– I don’t understand....”

Mumbo shakes his head slowly. “I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with you,” he states simply, his voice soft as his eyes, “but here we are.”

Grian’s jaw drops in shock. Mumbo chuckles. “You– Even though you know–”

“Yes,” Mumbo interrupts. “Even though I know. Even though my wings are yours, now. Even though you never told me.” Grian hiccups at that. “I know you, Grian,” Mumbo says. “I know how much this has probably been eating you up inside since the beginning. I know you were probably so close to telling me, so many times. I know you’ve been terrified for so long, scared to make a wrong move, scared to sleep, scared to let anyone close.” He leans their foreheads together. “Scared to let yourself love, and be loved.”

Grian lets out a ragged sob, his eyes clenching shut. He reaches up, and Mumbo pulls him close, wrapping him in a tight hug. Grian clutches Mumbo’s shoulders, then slides his arms around Mumbo’s neck. He buries his face in Mumbo’s shoulder, quickly drenching the soft fabric of his nice dress shirt. Mumbo starts rubbing up and down Grian’s back, and Grian cries out even as he relaxes into the soothing touch, melting against Mumbo’s chest and gasping for breath around his loud sobs.

  
  


Grian doesn’t know how long he cries for, but eventually the tears slow to a stop. He feels wrung out, the dried tears on his face pulling at his skin and making him itchy. Mumbo is still rubbing his back. He realizes that his wings have come up to wrap around them both. He’s in Mumbo’s lap, his cheek resting against Mumbo’s shoulder.

Mumbo presses a delicate kiss to the back of his head, the nearest part of Grian he can reach. Grian sighs softly and turns his face so that he can look at him. He studies Mumbo’s face; the corners of Mumbo’s lips turn upward in a slight smile, his eyes soft.

“....I’m sorry,” Grian whispers hoarsely. “I never meant to– I didn’t _know_ –”

“I know,” Mumbo says, cupping the back of Grian’s neck. “Shh. I know.”

Grian sniffles and presses his face back into Mumbo’s shoulder. Mumbo holds him close, still rubbing his back and every now and then leaving a kiss on top of his head, or on the side of his face.

After a little while, Mumbo shifts his weight, wrapping an arm around Grian’s waist and turning, guiding him into laying down. Grian doesn’t resist. Mumbo settles on his back, and he tugs Grian up to lay next to him. Grian throws a leg over Mumbo’s and rests his head on Mumbo’s shoulder. Mumbo sighs softly, bringing one hand up to brush the hair out of Grian’s face and resting the other on the small of his back.

“I love you,” Mumbo whispers.

Grian clutches at Mumbo’s shirt. “I.... I love you, too.”

Mumbo kisses his forehead, and Grian sighs in contentment. Later he’ll have to figure out what injured him so badly, and who else knows, and what everyone else will do about him if and when they find out. But for now, nestled against Mumbo’s side, Mumbo’s easy breaths and steady heart under his ear, all his secrets laid bare and forgiven, Grian lets sleep overtake him.


End file.
